


Love After Death 3

by xcharlieslove



Series: Love After Death [3]
Category: South Park
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 03:46:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5149082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xcharlieslove/pseuds/xcharlieslove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knows the anxious, twitchy boy Tweek, how crazy he is. But no one loves him as much as Craig does, even if he doesn't know it. But just what does it take for Tweek to realize?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love After Death 3

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the classic "The Boy Who Cried Wolf".

Tweek Tweak had always been a frantic, hopeless boy, constantly twitching and shrieking. His spasms and shakiness had caused him to be nothing but a burden to his family. If he experienced even the slightest bit of stress, he would become an inconsolable mess, pulling at his hair and clothes, screaming and unresponsive for days. His fingernails were chewed so short that they would crack and bleed. Despite this, he was kind and tried to help when he could, so Tweek didn’t believe he should have to die so young.

“Wolf!” Tweek shrieked. He was stood in the center of town, screaming for anyone to hear. He needed help, why could no one see that? “Please help! Gah! Anyone, help me!” He was going to be killed, and no one would be the wiser. He would be mauled to death, left strewn about the village, only to be found days later and fed to the livestock. 

The wolf paced back and forth in front of Tweek, shoulders hunched low to the ground, teeth bared threateningly. Its tail swung heavily between its legs, hips swaying as it set them, preparing to pounce. The wolf reared back and threw itself forward, latching its jaws around the boy’s forearm. Tweek cried out in pain, bashing his other arm against the wolf’s muzzle, raking his nails over its eyes, trying to get the wolf to release him. 

“What’s with all the yelling, child?” an elderly, wrinkled woman asks harshly, stepping out from her small bakery. Her dull eyes fell on the boy, staring at him with contempt. 

Tweek, quickly grasping onto his seemingly sole chance of survival, reached out his trembling arm towards the woman, shrieking “Help me, please!” Tears of relief, and still lingering fear, ran down his face, wetting his cheeks and shirt. His clinging hope began to fade, however, as the old woman continued to simply stand there and watch him. 

She jerkily lifted her hands to her hips, sighing. “I said, what’s with all the screaming? Run along, now. Run along!” she chastised, waving her arms in a shooing motion. She shook her head disapprovingly and turned around to walk back inside her shop.

Tweek, sweaty and trembling, looked back down to where the wolf was, except it was no longer there. There was nothing around him, no sign of any feral animal. He quickly looked down to his quivering arm, noticing with a shock, that it was unscathed; there was no mark of any kind. The tears, however, never stopped. Tweek hastily turned around and scrambled home, only falling in his hurry once. 

The next day, Tweek was out in the town, collecting more feed for his parent’s livestock. He nervously tugged at the front of his shirt with his free hand as he left the feed market, still shaking from the previous day’s events. Just outside of the market, however, he heard a noise. Despite being widely known for being panicky and twitchy, he was noticeably more so after the incident from the previous day. The noise he heard at the market, however, was unmistakably a growl, and most likely that of the same wolf. 

The wolf was back to finish the job it had started, Tweek thought. Now that he had tasted his blood, the monster had returned for more. The wolf was bloodthirsty, wanting only Tweek. The villagers must be in on it, he thought. Why else wouldn’t anyone have come to help? Everyone wanted him dead because he was so useless. Something in his mind was telling him he was on the right track, that he was special, delicious. He was so much more of a delicacy than anyone else, and that’s why the wolf wanted him. The villagers had sacrificed him to satiate the savage creature stalking their town. 

Tweek shook his head, blond hair bouncing uncontrollably and gained his thoughts back. He was twitchy and sweating as heard the growls again, seemingly closer this time, and hurriedly got on his way.

As he again reached the center of town, a voice in his head commanded he stop. The voice told him his time was over. That this was the end. Tweek froze on the spot, dropping the bags of feed to the ground, the sacks bursting open and spilling out onto the dirt. He slowly turned on his heel, holding his breath. 

A few feet away, waiting ominously in the shadow of the bordering forest, was the wolf, appearing savage and prepared to strike. The wolf growled viciously, stepping out of the shadow and approaching him slowly. 

Tweek reared back, shouting “Gah! Jesus Christ!” before throwing his body as far away from the wolf as possible, tripping and falling onto his back. He screams for help, raising his arms to protect his face. “Help! Save me, please! It’s the wolf! Help!” He shouts mercilessly, his throat going raw. He needed to get someone’s attention, anyone’s attention. He just needed to be saved! 

The wolf was on him in a second, tearing into his clothes and flesh, ripping him apart and enjoying every second of it. Tweek continued to scream, shrieking endlessly, thrashing his body every which way; attempting to break free of the wolf’s hold. 

Suddenly there was a flurry of motion from Tweek’s periphery vision. He finally tore his vision away from the wolf, weakly reaching toward the townsfolk he could see approaching. The boy saw their faces, his vision going black around the edges. He saw the condemning way they stared at him, the disdainful way they lifted their noses at him and sneered at his blood. 

One of the young boys among them, however, looked on, his mouth hanging open in horrified shock. He gripped the sides of his blue, knitted cap, pulling it down over his eyes. The yellow puffball on top was dark and clumpy with grime and age. 

Tweek tried to focus on the boy, distract himself from the searing pain of being torn and stabbed into. He recognized him, knew him but not his name. Despite this, no one tried to help him. No one even dared get too close, as if in fear of interrupting the wolf’s meal. They all just stared on, waiting to see when Tweek would take his final breath. 

Suddenly the scene changed. Tweek was no longer being held down and gutted by a fierce wolf with a grudge, but was now running, tripping through the dense forest. He didn’t know why he was running, or where he was going, but he knew he couldn’t stop. The voice in his head was back, telling him to stop, telling him to let whatever was chasing him catch up and kill him. The voice said he was worthless, and that no one would miss him. He would be doing the world a favor. Tweek couldn’t tell if the voice was right or wrong anymore. 

Soon, Tweek became exhausted, and had to stop running. He couldn’t breathe and was sweating and trembling too much to see clearly. He couldn’t go on. He was done. He was tired. His breaths came out in sharp pants, he could barely control them. “It’s the wolf!” He gasped out to anyone who would listen, air slithering back into his raw throat. 

Tweek continued to head towards the border of the town, trying to escape both the wolf and the voices whispering menacingly in his mind. As he slowed down, he tripped on a loose branch, flying forward and smashing his head against the trunk of the tree. Warm blood flowed down from his hairline, causing his eyes to burn violently. He rolled onto his back and brought his fists to his eyes, rubbing rapidly to clear them. 

A branch cracked in the distance, echoing through the trees. The boy gasped, holding his breath. He lay there, sweaty and trembling, hoping the perpetrator would move on. The menacing sound continued on, growing closer. 

Tweek closed his eyes, resting his hands by his side. He knew he was done. It was his time to die, as the voice kept reminding him. He could tell a shadow blocked the sunlight from reaching his eyelids. He could feel the warm, moist breaths on his cheeks from the wolf’s muzzle. The wolf opened his mouth, and drool dribbled onto the boy’s face, running along his skin. He shivered in fear, his body tensing. A scream was ripped from his throat as his mind went blank. 

On the other side of the village, the boy with the blue puffball hat, Craig, was pacing around the center of town. Where had Tweek gotten off to? He had heard him screaming, but Tweek had run off into the forest before Craig could catch him. He should have helped, he should have done something that last time Tweek had gone through one of his fits, but he was so terrified by what he saw all he could do was hide his face. 

Craig had been watching Tweek for months. Learning about how to handle him in best and worst moments. He wanted to know how to best approach him and come off as unintimidating and calm. He needed Tweek to like him. Craig didn’t know why, but he loved that spasmodic, slightly crazy boy. 

Tweek’s parents had informed Craig of Tweek’s condition when he had approached them about becoming Tweek’s friend. They told him how Tweek had his good days, and his bad days. How Tweek would see and talk to things that weren’t there. How he would scream and cry himself to sleep after a slightly stressful event occurred. They claimed that they did the best that they could at raising him and keeping him calm, but they remarked that the strangest, smallest things could set him off, and nothing could console him until his fit was done. 

Despite this, Craig felt the overwhelming desire to protect Tweek. The first time Craig had laid eyes on him, he had wanted to take him into his arms and kiss his forehead, do anything to stop his trembling and stutters. He would protect Tweek the best he could. He just had to find him first. 

\--

The elderly woman from the bakery was wandering the village, picking flowers for her window display. Her basket was at its limit, and she was preparing to turn back to town when she noticed a strange and appalling sight. 

It was the loud, anxious boy from before, covered in fresh blood, completely decorated with wounds, bite and scratch marks alike. He was staring blankly ahead of himself, eyes pale and unfocused. The woman was immediately alarmed, rushing forward and kneeling a foot away, afraid of trying to help but only cause further harm instead. She froze when she realized that he was mumbling something under his breath. 

“The wolf! Gah! The wolf is hurting me. It hurts. Please help me.” It seemed to be a mantra he was repeating quietly to himself. The woman watched as he raised his arms, both hands soaked in his own blood, flesh under his fingernails. He overlapped his arms across his chest, gripping his opposite arms, dragging his ragged nails down the flesh, fresh cuts blooming. He slowly brought his hands to cover his face, dragging them over his eyes and down his cheeks, smearing blood and grime. He continued to tear the skin he could reach apart, all the while begging to be saved from an invisible wolf.

Every cut and mark scattered across his body was caused by Tweek’s own hands, the woman sadly realized. He was his own wolf.  
The other townspeople began to crowd around the woman and the boy. There were whispers and talks emanating from them, all sounding disgusted and dismayed. 

“Excuse me, folks.” A young man with a red vest steps forward from the crowd, gently clearing his throat and removing his cap. “But…” he continues hesitantly, looking sideways at the boy, “But isn’t that the Tweak boy who cried wolf?”

Hearing this, Craig rushes forward from a few feet away, pushing his way through the crowd. At seeing his Tweek in such a state, Craig falls to his knees, sobbing and wanting to crawl towards Tweek to hold him, but he didn’t, feeling that if he did, he would shatter the thin, glass thread that was connecting Tweek to his world. To him. 

In the end it didn’t matter, as Tweek died later that night. He simply stopped breathing, they say. His heart refused to pump at such a constant high rate for a second longer. The town wasn’t even saddened, only Tweek’s parents, and surreptitiously Craig, attended the funeral. No one seemed to care about the frantic blond boy who pulled at his hair and his clothes and chewed his nails compulsively. 

Craig never stopped caring, could never forget. That’s why he escaped out into the woods late one night for a walk. He walked for hours, not even stopping as he approached the verge of a cliff. Not even as he spread his arms and continued over the edge.

\--

Tweek had always been a very frantic boy, never knowing the feeling of “calm”. Now however, Tweek felt as if this was it. He sat on a moss covered stump and looked around himself, noticing the serene beauty of the forest. How and the sunlight filtered softly through the branches high above him, lending a soothing warmth to his tear-damp cheeks. He realized how all of the life around him seemed tranquil and at ease, content to gently sway in the fresh breeze from the sea for eternity. Everything was calm. 

Tweek finally looked down at himself, noticing how, for the first time in his memory, his body was completely motionless. He held out his hands in front of himself. They weren’t trembling. Tweek felt happier, and more carefree than he ever had before. 

Suddenly, a branch snaps behind him, shattering his momentary bliss. He quickly looked over his shoulder to see the boy with the blue cap hesitantly approaching him. He stopped by a tree a few feet away, steadying himself with a hand against it. 

The boy stared at him dazedly, his cheeks pink. Neither of them said anything for a while, until the boy finally whispers “You’re not shaking.” He snaps his mouth shut and looks down at his feet as his feet as if he immediately regrets saying that. 

Tweek again looks down at himself, still not believing how in control of himself he feels. He smiles at the boy, still at ease. “Finally”, Tweek agrees. 

The boy steps away from the tree, slowly going to kneel in front of Tweek. He slowly reaches out to grasp Tweek’s hand, warming it between his own. He holds it against his cheek and breathes deeply, closing his eyes. 

Tweek, utterly content, simply asks “What’s your name?” 

“Craig. I know you, Tweek. I’m so sorry this had to happen. I love you. I should have done something.” Craig broke off as he began to sob. Still clutching Tweek’s hand, he drops his head into Tweek’s lap and cries. 

Tweek wrapped his arm around Craig’s back and laid his forehead on Craig’s shoulder. “I know, Craig. I always saw you watching me. There’s nothing you could have done. It wasn’t your fault.” Tweek comforted him. Tweek felt that perhaps, he had always loved the boy in the blue puffball hat as well. They sat together in their small heaven, both peaceful and happy for the first time in their lives. 

Neither of them questioned why they were both there, or why everything was so perfect. They remained there for many years, content to bask in the sunlight and sway in the gentle breeze. 

Back in the town, a young man with a red vest goes to visit the small grave site on the edge of the forest of the small, anxious boy. As he trailed closer, he noticed a small blue cap with a dirty, yellow puffball placed on the headstone. Recalling the hat as that of the boy that went missing a few days prior, the man with the red vest smiled, and continued on his way.

The knitted blue cap remained there for many years, and according to the young man in the red vest and hat, he would say it wasn’t a coincidence that the blue hat never seemed to fade on color or quality. Maybe the nervous, twitchy boy kept watch over the blue hat, protecting it.

The young man would say that it was fate, and that it was proof that there was, indeed, love after death.


End file.
